


See You Soon

by stardropdream



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Fuuma killed someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See You Soon

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ March 8, 2010.
> 
> This was originally part of Satellite Mind, but didn't fit the narrative. It can be read on its own, though.

Fuuma still remembered the first tasks Yuuko ever put him on. One of these missions was the calmest in his memory, the one he can still remember in perfect detail. The day he killed someone for the first time, finally crossed the line he himself had never experienced despite the details of his own family. It was something he thought he’d never do. Something that, had he been younger, much younger, would have distressed him to learn. Now it was something as natural as breathing, something that he was far too used to. Even at that time.   
  
He was meant to steal an ancient artifact being held hostage in a home for centuries, deep in the center of a large complex. It’d been simple enough to slip inside—if there was one thing Fuuma was good at, it was sneaking around and being left undetected.   
  
What he hadn’t anticipated—and he realized it was foolish not to suspect in hindsight—was when he lifted the bell jar off of the ancient jewel set in silver for there to be a screeching alarm to follow. That had not been what he’d planned.   
  
Instead of an onslaught of guards, however, there was only one gun, held poised in a gloved hand. Fuuma heard the safety click off and the barrel cock. He dove behind a pillar with enough time to spare to appreciate the smell of gunpowder and the slam of a bullet into the wall, an echoing, hollow gunshot reverberating in the empty halls.   
  
“I’ll kill you,” someone vowed, and Fuuma sighed, because he should have known that this was what his life would entail from now on.   
  
“No you won’t,” Fuuma breathed and palmed his own gun, pulling it from his holster and checking to make sure the bullets were in place. He hadn’t used it on someone yet, though he’d been practicing.   
  
He whipped out from behind the pillar, firing a warning shot. A shot returned towards him in turn, just missing him and shattering a vase on a pedestal. Fuuma ducked behind another pillar.  
  
He waited a few still moments before ducking to the next pillar, circling the room and creeping ever closer to the owner of the artifact he’d just stolen. He paused, pressed up against a pillar, the echo of the most recent gunshot reverberating against his eardrums, and breathed. By now, they were most likely out of bullets.   
  
He closed his eyes, collected himself, recalled everything he knew and learned growing up. In a flash, he ducked out from behind the pillar and charged the owner. Their shoulders slammed together and his assailant’s gun went skittering across the tile as the two of them crashed to the ground. They struggled, Fuuma first with the upper hand and then flipped over and punched. His head whipped to the side and he bit his tongue, tasting red blood.   
  
He turned his face back, gripped the gun in his hand as his intruder pulled back, fist at a ready to punch again. Their eyes locked.  
  
“Give it back,” this stranger ordered.   
  
“No,” Fuuma said.   
  
“Don’t take it away, damn you,” the other cursed, punching Fuuma in the other cheek.   
  
Fuuma pulled his gun up, pressed it against the side of the assailant’s head. He froze. Their eyes locked.  
  
The stranger’s mouth opened, and then closed. They stared at one another.   
  
His mouth formed words that he did not speak, that Fuuma ignored.  
  
 _Don’t._  
  
Fuuma closed his eyes briefly.   
  
He pulled the trigger.  
  
And just like that, it was over, and the blood dripped on the walls.   
  
Fuuma stayed on his back, breathing, staring up at the ceiling. Then he slowly sat up, planting his hand on the ground and slipping through a puddle of blood. He stared at his hand, and studied it with a critical eye. He was far too used to blood to be distressed by the sight, so with a sigh he got to his feet and wandered around, jewel in his pocket, until he found a bathroom.  
  
He washed himself off and slipped on his gloves, staring at himself in the mirror. He’d killed someone. He’d done what he’d seen his brother and his mother do so many times before, but that he’d never done himself. And here he stood. He wasn’t even shaking. He didn’t cry out. He held his gun with practiced poise and ease. His face didn’t look any different from before, no crinkle or crack or signs of decay.   
  
He smiled, and it was far too easy to do so.  
  
“Okay,” he said.   
  
He moved on to the next world.


End file.
